


Serotonin

by tcarroll_12



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Depression, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:36:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29875755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tcarroll_12/pseuds/tcarroll_12
Summary: In which an innocent declaration forces Hardy to realize something he's tried to ignore for far too long.****POSSIBLE TRIGGER?**** I may be super-simplifying what depression is, and I've never had clinical, so please don't tear me apart if you do have this and feel belittled or mislabeled or misunderstood in any way by this, as it's most definitely just meant to be fluff and not an actual "this is what I believe about depression" neurotypical... thing. Yeah.
Relationships: Alec Hardy & Fred Miller
Kudos: 21





	Serotonin

One rainy Tuesday afternoon in Broadchurch found DI Hardy temporarily minding one wild-haired, blue-eyed Fred Miller while his mother was away for some godforsaken-early appointment in Devon to which she couldn’t take him, not that Alec minded. He’d needed a day off for awhile now, had most certainly earned it, and work was slow besides. CS Jenkinson had seen no problem with it after he’d agreed to at least be on-call, and now Hardy and his charge were settling down for an afternoon nap in Hardy’s room.

“Why do you take those pills for, Uncle Alec?”

Hardy froze for a split second, then figured it couldn’t hurt to tell wee Fred the truth. He was a smart lad for his age, after all; Miller’s no-secrets policy had created a very open learning environment, which curiosity she had no desire to quash. Hardy agreed with it wholeheartedly. Keeping things from weans only hurt them in the long run; better they become wise to the ways of the world and learn to navigate its harsh truths early on than have a rude awakening and a possible breakdown years down the road when their disillusion was inevitably challenged.

As for now, the only challenge here was to explain his clinical depression in a way that made sense to a six-year-old brain, without becoming condescending in the simplicity of it.

He frowned for a moment, mulling it over, and Fred stopped playing with his dinosaurs and sat up, staring at his unofficial uncle for an answer.

“Well…” he started after a pause. “Simply put, Fred lad, our brains... make stuff. On a veeery teeny tiny scale. Ye can’t see it wi' yer eyes, but doctors can measure it.” Fred was all ears. “They make happy stuff, and sad stuff. The more happy stuff they make, the happier you are, and the more sad stuff they make, the sadder you are. And sometimes, if a lot of sad things happen to a person, their brains stop being able to make the happy stuff as well as they should. They sort of… forget how.”

“Did a lot of sad things happen to you?”

Hardy smiled sadly at the boy. “Yeah.”

“And _your_ brain can’t make the happy stuff anymore?”

“Not as well, no.” _Well, this is unironically depressing._ “So the medicine I take helps _give_ my brain some happy stuff to make up for it, so I don’t have to feel sad all the time, while I go with your mum on Saturdays to talk to a specialist who helps me _teach_ my brain how to make the happy stuff again.”

“Do you see the same person? Only Mummy didn’t used to know how to make the happy stuff when we were in Devon,” Fred confided thoughtfully, “and the lady she talked to at the weekends helped her too.”

Aye, he was a perceptive one. Hardy folded his hands under his head and looked over the boy fondly as he set his plastic brontosaurus on Hardy’s chest. “And then we came back here and she made more.”

Alec closed his eyes and smiled at that. “D'ye wanna know the big grown-up word for the happy stuff?”

“Yah!”

“It’s called _serotonin.”_

“Sarah…” Fred giggled and rolled over on his back next to him. “I forgot.”

Hardy laughed and repeated the word, enunciating the syllables. “Ser-o-to-nin. How d'ye think it’s spelled?” Alright, that might have been a bit of a stretch, given that he couldn’t even pronounce the word.

“Mummy.”

Alec’s heart momentarily stopped, and his eyes flew open to stare at the ceiling in utter shock. As he didn’t look round, he had no way of knowing that Fred’s declaration was not, in fact, an answer to Hardy’s question. Ellie had come home earlier than expected and snuck into the hut via the side door, and now stood watching their interaction at the doorway. It was simply Fred’s response to seeing her standing there with her finger to her lips.

But to Hardy, he’d pinned down a thought the inspector had scarcely given himself permission to think. After a moment, he gave in and sighed.

“Aye, that’s a good way to spell it. Only don’t tell yer mum that, or I’ll never hear the end of it, yeah?”


End file.
